October 30, 2014

ONE OF THE THINGS sailors like to do
is day-dream. Mostly they dream about beer and women, but sometimes they dream
about boats, specifically the boats they’d like to have built for themselves if
they won the jackpot.

I was reading about one such boat
the other day, an 80-foot, 50-ton, gaff ketch. She was designed by Edson B.
Schock in 1941, in response to a request (presumably from someone who’d just
won the jackpot) for the design of a yacht suitable for a cruise around the
world.

Nobody in those days thought a 20-
or 30-footer was suitable for crossing oceans, so Mr. Schock suggested an
auxiliary ketch of rather larger dimensions, and he also argued for a gaff
ketch rig because, as he pointed out, most of the trip from New York, through
the Panama Canal, and south and west across the Pacific would be largely off
the wind.

This boat was meant to accommodate
the owner and two guests in some high degree of comfort. “Your party of three
should require two staterooms, one double and one single,” said Mr. Schock,
“and in addition it would be advisable to have an extra stateroom for your
captain and also radio officer, should you consider it necessary to carry one.”

He also estimated that the crew’s
quarters should have accommodations for three.

“The sail area would be about 2,800
square feet in the working sails, and the auxiliary power a 100-hp diesel
engine with 650 gallons of fuel oil and 1,200 gallons of water.

“The lighting would be by DC current
from a diesel generator and batteries which would also supply current for an
electric refrigerator and an anchor windlass.

“In the design of the hull it would
be advantageous to keep the displacement rather light in order that she would
ride easily and lift to the seas, thereby keeping her out of the class of heavy
displacement yachts which are frequently referred to as half-tide rocks when
they are so heavy that they do not rise readily in a head sea.

“The construction, if of wood, would
consist of double-sawn frames with either yellow pine or Douglas fir planking below
water, and teak above with teak decks and all upper works of teak.

“A yacht of this type and size . . . would
make ample room for all and not be too cramped for such an extended cruise,”
Mr. Schock concluded. “She would prove very seaworthy under all conditions.”

Well, I must say that all this talk
about staterooms makes this a very attractive design, at least to anyone who
has won the jackpot, but I find it a little worrying that Mr. Shock makes no
mention of the extra accommodation needed for the stewards who would be running
back and forth with the gin-and-tonics, and neither does he provide room for even
a modestly-sized troupe of dancing girls. What the heck, if you’ve truly won
the jackpot, you might as well go the whole hog, don’tcha think?

Today’s
Thought

Some
people think luxury is the opposite of poverty. It isn’t. It is the opposite of
vulgarity.

— Gabrielle (“Coco”) Chanel, Ladies’ Home Journal, Sep 56

Tailpiece

“Are
you still breeding birds?”

“Yeah.
I just crossed a homing pigeon with a parrot.”

“What for?”

“If
the pigeon gets lost it can ask the way home.”

(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday,
Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)

October 28, 2014

DOES ANYONE REALLY CARE whether the
ancient Viking marauders ever took baths? I ask because their modern-day
descendants appear to be somewhat sensitive on this subject. A Danish website
claims, rather self-pityingly, that the Vikings “have long since had the
reputation of being filthy wild animals.” This is a myth they’d like to dispel,
according to the website.

The Danes are not slow to point of
out that descriptions of the Vikings came mainly from Christian writers who had
reason to spread fear about the bands of pagan berserkers who were ravaging
Europe. “A Christian writer would be strongly biased to present the evil pagans
in the worst light. To this day it is the writings of these Christians which
give us the impression that Vikings were dirty savages. The reality seems to be
quite the opposite.”

Frankly, if I were on the beach when
a Viking longship hove into view, the last thing I’d be worried about was
whether those guys with the bristling beards and large axes were suffering from
halitosis or smelly armpits. But no matter, let’s hear what the Danes have
tosay:

“We know from the accounts of the
Anglo-Saxons that the Vikings who settled in England were considering to be
‘clean freaks’ because they would bath once a week. This was at a time when an
Anglo-Saxon would bath only once or twice a year. In fact the original meaning
of the Scandinavian words for Saturday was ‘Washing Day.’ “

In passing, it’s interesting to note
the Danish use of the word ‘settled' above. It sounds much more genteel, and a whole
lot less smelly, than the actual process of hacking and slaughter and rape and
pillage that accompanied the arrival of the Vikings in England.

Nevertheless, these fine upright
fellows also won praise for their cleanliness from an Arab writer called Ibn
Rustah, and another called Ibn Fadian, who noted that the Vikings used to wash
their faces and blow their noses every morning. The fact that they all shared
the same bowl for their ablutions dismayed him somewhat, but he pointed out
that no matter how they did it, they were cleaner than their European Christian
cousins, who did not bother to clean their faces every day.

So there you have it on the best
authority. If you ever thought Vikings were smelly beasts, you had it all
wrong. Shame on you. As the poet said, a Viking by any other name would smell
as sweet, then and even now.

Today’s
Thought

Whoever
eats bread without first washing his hands is as though he had sinned with a
harlot.

— Babylonian Talmud: Sotah

Tailpiece

“How’s the new Jewish opera singer
getting along?”

“I’m not sure. She doesn’t seem to
know if she’s Carmen or Cohen because she’s always so Bizet.”

(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday,
Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)

October 26, 2014

I’M NOT SURPRISED that ancient
Polynesian sailors managed to find their way from remote Easter Island to the
mainland of South America. What interests me far more is how they found their way
back. Easter Island is, after all, a tiny speck of land 2,300 miles west of
South America, and 1,100 miles away from any other island.

Scientists recently conducted a
study that shows interbreeding between the native peoples of Easter Island and
those of South America. They believe it occurred between 1300 and 1500, and the
genetic evidence shows that it was probably the Rapa Nui people of Easter
Island who made the long ocean voyages there and back.

The Polynesians had fast, seaworthy
sailing canoes, it’s true, but can you imagine how skilled they were as
navigators at a time when most European sailors were clinging cautiously to the
coastlines in slow, dumpy vessels that were little better, if any, than those
of the ancient Greeks and Romans?

How could they hope to make an
accurate landfall on Easter Island after the long lonely trek from South
America? It is nothing less than astounding.

I know that one of their tricks was
to place themselves on the latitude of an island and then to run either due
east or due west until they hit land. And one of the devices they used to
determine their latitude was a straight piece of split bamboo with a loop at
the top. This straight piece had a shorter piece of bamboo, known as the
pointer, tied at right angles to the looped piece.

I learned this some years back when
I edited Dennis Fisher’s wonderful little book called Latitude Hooks and Azimuth Rings (International Marine). The
latitude hook relies on the fact that the stars appear to rotate around fixed points
known as the celestial poles. In the northern hemisphere, for instance, the
north celestial pole is marked, as near as dammit, by Polaris, the North Star.
With a latitude hook held at arm’s length, and the pointer aligned with the
horizon, a navigator knew he was maintaining his correct latitude if he could
see Polaris through the loop on the top.

If the star were above the loop, he
would head farther south; if below the loop, he’d head north, In the South
Pacific, he’d use the constellations Southern Cross and Centaurus to figure out
the position of the south celestial pole.

While it sounds very simple, it must
have taken some skill to use a latitude hook with any degree of accuracy, and I
suspect that the final landfall was achieved with the aid of other navigational
tricks learned by the Polynesians, such as their ability to deduce the position
of an island still hidden over the horizon from the angle of reflected swells.

However they did it, it was a
marvelous achievement for the times, and if you’d like to try your hand at it
some time, get hold of a copy of Fisher’s book, because it also tells you how
to build and use 18 traditional navigational tools, including the astrolabe,
the cross-staff and the octant. Even if you don’t build any of the instruments,
it’s a fascinating read.

October 23, 2014

I WAS WRITING SOMETHING for a
magazine the other day and I mentioned the ancient Viking ship discovered in Gokstad,
Norway, in 1880. I referred to her as “slim and slippery.” Someone objected to
that description, saying the Viking ships were squat and fat and not very far
advanced in the art of design.

Not so, I’m afraid. If you look at
her lines you’ll see that she is, in fact, extraordinary in her beauty and
fineness. She was light and fast and hardly disturbed the water she moved
through.

Frederick K. Lord wrote an article
about the Gokstad ship in The Rudder
magazine in which he said that, considering the forms of contemporaneous ships,
“it seems incredible that a vessel so far ahead of its time could be produced.”
Contemporaneous, in this instance, means somewhere between the 8th and 11th
centuries A.D.

She was a skuta, a type of small
warship mentioned in the Sagas. She was designed mainly to be rowed but she did
carry a squaresail for use when conditions were suitable. “She was built for
speed,” said Lord. “Such a craft must have been very much used, being light,
swift, and handy for short voyages and general purposes.” Her length was close
to 80 feet and her beam was 16 foot 8 inches. She displaced 63,700 pounds and drew
only 3 foot 8 inches of water. She carried about 80 men.

Colin Archer took the lines off her
and no doubt marveled, as many others have done after him, at the advanced
design and construction. “The boats of Norway are today almost exactly like
this old ship,” said Lord, “and such an instance of persistence of type is
without parallel in the history of shipbuilding and affords indisputable proof
of the skill and knowledge of the Norsemen in designing and building ships.
Considering the leading dimensions and type, what designer today would
undertake to improve the lines of this boat? Could he produce a fairer set of
waterlines, buttocks and diagonals?

“Many parts are decorated with
ornamental tracings and carvings and the whole bespeaks the conscientious care
with which these Viking boats were built. Driving down the wind with swelling
sail, shields on gunwale, and crowded with a crew of lion-hearted men dressed
in barbaric splendor, the whole a mass of color — what a sight it must have
been!”

A sight to make a stout-hearted man
quake in his boots and run to lock up his wife and daughters, I should think.

October 21, 2014

ONE QUESTION that you don’t often
hear is: What pajamas should a lady wear
while cruising on a boat?

It only got asked once in my
lifetime. My wife asked it.

I said immediately, “Babydoll
pajamas, of course. Pretty pink ones.” It occurred to me that I would
appreciate a bit of help pulling up the anchor, and a lady inbabydoll pajamas in the cockpit might attract
some male brutes from nearby yachts.

But such was not to be. My wife led
me to believe that she was never going to appear in public in pink babydoll
pajamas and what’s more what kind of a man was I even to suggest such a thing?

I have since consulted Wikipedia to
ascertain why the love of my life was so put off by the suggestion of babydoll
pajamas. According to Wiki, “A babydoll
is a short, sometimes sleeveless, loose-fitting nightgown or negligée intended
as nightwear for women.”

I’m no expert on haute couture,
admittedly, but that sounds perfectly harmless to me. In the event, she made a
small compromise. She appeared on board in conventional pajamas — long sleeves
and full-length pants — but they were pink.

And yet she was mortified when,
after a four-day passage at sea, we arrived in port in the middle of the night
and she was called from her bunk to help with mooring. A berthing gang of men
was standing by on the quay in case we needed help. “Oh!” said June, taken
aback.

“What?” I said.

“We’ve just arrived safely at our
first port in our own yacht. And I’m wearing pink pajamas and an orange anorak.
So chic!”

Men don’t have the same concerns
about haute-couture faux pas, of course, and we couldn’t care less about
upsetting the finer feelings of a stubble-chinned bunch of longshoremen. In the
tropics my pajamas are invariably loose athletic shorts. Around here in the
Pacific Northwest a cozy track suit works well. I can go straight from my bunk
to the foredeck to check the anchor rode and not have to worry about the
fashion police arresting me because my top doesn’t match my pants.

I guess men are lucky. In most ways,
it’s very nice to be a sailorman, even in the lamentable absence of pink
babydoll pajamas.

Today’s
Thought

I remember seeing a movie with
Jose Ferrer and Rosemary Clooney where they were husband and wife, and they got
in bed, and he had on polka-dot pajamas and she had on striped pajamas, and
when they got up the next morning he had on the striped pajamas and she had the
polka dot pajamas, and that was considered racy at that time!

— Bob Newhart

Tailpiece

Little Mary woke at 2 a.m., called
for a glass of water, and demanded to be told a fairy story.

“Hush, sweetheart,” said her mother,
“your father will be home soon. He’ll tell us both one.”

(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday,
Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)

October 19, 2014

I WOULD LIKE TO ACQUAINT YOU with
the fact that former Marine captain Michael Pitre is a fine judge of boating
books. Pitre, who served two terms in Iraq, has written a novel based on his
experiences over there. It’s called Fives
and Twenty-Fives (Bloomsbury) and has received high praise in the literary
world as one of the great novels of war. In fact, Kirkus Reviews goes as far as to describe Pitre’s book as “one of
the definitive renderings of the Iraq experience.”

I mention all this for good reason.
On page 5 of the book, the hero of the story talks about a neatly organized
stack of books that constitutes his ever-expanding sailboat research library.
And he says: “John Vigor’s Twenty Small
Sailboats to Take You Anywhere sits atop the pile, catching my attention
first.”

Page 5! So near the
beginning! Be still, my heart! I have never been mentioned in a novel before,
let alone so close to the start.

Pitre’s hero adds: “I
reach for Vigor’s book, though I know it almost by heart at this point.”

What a perspicacious author
this Michael Pitre is. What keen judgment he displays. Who could be more
acutely perceptive? What an excellent choice he made in keeping Twenty Small Sailboats right on the top
of his protagonist’s pile of boating books.

And what can I do by
way of returning the compliment, other than to recommend with the greatest
sincerity that you rush out and buy his novel? The book views the conflict in
Iraq from the unusual perspective of a platoon of Marines whose job is to fill
potholes in Anbar Province during the bloodiest period of the war. That’s more
dangerous than you might expect, because every pothole is booby-trapped with an
explosive device.

Fives
and Twenty-Fives
often reads more like a personal memoir than a conventional novel, and apart
from describing many suspenseful moments on Iraq’s treacherous highways, it
also delves into the problems faced by servicemen returning home from that
life-changing conflict.

Pitre himself quit the
Marines in 2010 to study for his MBA at Loyola and now lives in New Orleans. I
can only hope that his novel tops the New
York Times best-seller list — and, incidentally, makes millions of readers
aware of another splendid book mentioned on page 5.

Today’s
Thought

Fame,
we may understand is no sure test of merit, but only a probability of such: it
is an accident, not a property of a man.

— Carlyle, Essays: Goethe

Tailpiece

I was laying on the green,

A small English book I seen.

As Carlyle’s Essay on Burns was the name of the edition,

I left it laying in exactly the same
position.

(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday,
Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)

October 16, 2014

I DON’T SUPPOSE one sailor in 100
ever gives any thanks to the persons who invented Dacron and nylon, the
materials from which most modern-day sails are made. That’s because most of us
take our sails for granted, little suspecting the time and trouble it took to
maintain sails in the old days, and to preserve their shape for efficient
propulsion.

Ernest Ratsey, one of the great
names of sailmaking, described the materials from which sails were made in the
1930s in an article in The Rudder
magazine.

“There are two kinds of canvas
basically,” he explained, “a Southern-grown American cotton which is white and
an Egyptian-grown cotton which is called brown Egyptian because of its reddish
tint. The difference is really very marked.

“This brown Egyptian is getting
lighter in color every year and the only feasible explanation I have heard for
this change is that in the olden days the River Nile overflowed its banks when
it had too much water in it and irrigated the fields, sending with the water a
lot of silt, which in itself is a reddish-brown color.

“Now, since the Assouan Dam has been
built, nature no longer floods the fields but it is done by man instead and
scarcely any silt goes with the water as most of it has settled to the bottom.

“Don’t confuse brown Egyptian with
tanned canvas. This is a dye which I believe comes from India. This tanned
canvas is used quite a good deal by the fishing boats and trawlers working off
the Brittany coast and in the North Sea. This dye is supposed to preserve the
canvas and, of course, it doesn’t show the dirt or the mildew.

“In the old days flax was used a
great deal for canvas. It is of a very soft nature and even when wet it remains
that way but, of course. sails made from flax do not hold their shape owing to
its softness, that is why it has been superseded by cotton. Egyptian cotton has
a longer staple than Southern-grown American cotton and it makes a stronger
sail which seems to hold its shape better.

“You hear a lot about ordering sails
in the winter time and you probably think that this is a lot of sales talk. In
a way I suppose it is, but the real reason is that during the winter months
when the steam heat is on and the loft is kept at an even temperature, the
canvas as it goes through the various stages of manufacturing into a sail does
not vary very much and in the end should turn out to be a smoother sail;
whereas in the summer you may start a sail on a nice sunny day, have it blowing
northeast with rain on the second day and get a dry nor’wester the third.

“This is really most disconcerting
to the sailmaker because the canvas reacts very differently on each of these
days, so you can see that it is much simpler and should be a safer proposition
making sails during the wintertime.”

Today’s
Thought

Oh,
what a blamed uncertain thing

This
pesky weather is!

It
blew and snew and then it thew

And
now, by jing, it’s friz!

— Philander Johnson, Shooting Stars

Tailpiece

Twinkle, twinkle little star,

How I wonder what you are

(Up above the footlights’ sheen);

Forty-nine or seventeen?

(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday,
Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)

October 14, 2014

THERE ARE FAR TOO MANY SAILORS who are too cautious for their own good. They plan the hell out of everything. Every little excursion they make must be thoroughly researched. The right charts must be purchased as a backup to the GPS. Relatives must be furnished with a document to hand to the Coast Guard if they go missing. The radar must be working properly before they’ll cast off, as must the AIS and the VHF and the SSB. And so on.

I blame the Nanny State that forces us to wear seat belts and helmets for our own good, and imposes upon us speed limits and laws about not talking on cell phones. People with common sense don’t need this molly-coddling. As for the rest — well, Nature will take care of them. They’ll kill themselves and the human gene pool will be cleansed of their stupidity.

Way back in 1940, The Rudder magazine ran an article by Charles Blackford entitled “How I Cruise.” Charles was an inspiration to all of us. When he was asked what lists he used to provision the boat for a cruise, he said: “When I go cruising, I go for fun. I don’t intend to play valet to an ice box or chef to a five-course dinner. One old carton carries the chow, another the cooking and eating gear. All you have to do is pull them out into the light and dig. No hunting about under berths or in dark lockers.”His questioner seemed somewhat shaken, but he continued nevertheless and asked how Charles Blackford set about the overall planning for a cruise. According to the article in The Rudder, Blackford replied:
“I don’t plan. I may think about going a certain place five or six years, then when the combination of circumstances seems just right, I collect someone to go along, chuck my gear into the cabin and start.
“Generally, I don’t get there. Quite often I find myself headed in the opposite direction, the wind being what it is. I have places where I want to go in all directions and all distances, so it doesn’t really matter.

“But when I do get started I run day and night as long as the wind is fair. If it heads me before I get to my destination I don’t argue but run into the nearest hole the wind allows me to make. Generally I find it quite as interesting as the place for which I was heading. (I’m always disappointed in my destination if I accidentally happen to arrive there.)

“Coming back, I take it easy, duck from pothole to pothole with a couple of days tucked up my sleeve for bad weather. If I don’t use them up I spend them in a short run from home, just lazing around and finishing up the grub so we won’t have much to lug off the boat. I cruise for fun, not as a self-imposed endurance contest.

“Having spent 15 or more years deep water I get my kick out of browsing in and out of pot holes. Cruising is a time of relaxation to me, not a desperate race against time and wind. I’ve gone out for days, had a good time, and never been twenty miles from my mooring.”

Today’s ThoughtThe man is prudent who neither hopes nor fears anything from the uncertain events of the future.— Anatole France, The Procurator of Judea

TailpieceInstinct is what allows a man to recognize a mistake the second time he makes it. Experience is what keeps him from admitting it the third time.

(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, for a new Mainly about Boats column.)

October 12, 2014

ONE OF THE MOST DIFFICULT TASKS a sailboat
skipper faces is persuading the off-watch to get below and stay below.
Particularly at the start of a coastal passage, which normally starts during
daylight hours, it takes a fair amount of nagging to clear the off-duty crew
out of the cockpit. If it’s a warm sunny day, the breeze is fair, and the sea
calm, nobody wants to be down below.

But it’s important that the watch
due to take over in four hours should be properly rested. The watch system
should be started immediately you leave port, and even if the off-watch isn’t
yet ready to sleep, they should at least lie on their bunks and start forming
the habits that will serve them until they next reach port.

Thomas Fleming Day, the editor of The Rudder magazine, had a great deal to
say about the behavior of off-watch crews, especiallywith regard to sailing at night, and he
maintained that “the watch whose watch is below should keep it there, and not go
on deck. If called on deck for the purpose of shortening or making sail, they
should come at once. The skipper should not, unless it is necessary, interfere
with the man he places in charge when his own watch is below. By doing so, you
teach that man not to depend on his own judgment and knowledge. If he is a man
you can trust, trust him, or else don’t let him have charge.”

Thomas Day also had this to say
about night sailing: “Remember that it takes about three times as long to make
or shorten sail in the dark as it does in the day. Therefore, if you have to
get in canvas, give the men plenty of time. Never parley with squalls at night;
take in sail until you find just what the blow is going to amount to.”

Day believed that in order to be
comfortable and keep your crew in good humor, each watch when it goes on or off
duty should be given a bite to eat and a warm drink. “If you don’t carry either
a spare hand or a cook, then the watch below should get something ready for
themselves, and for those coming off, before going on deck. A big pot of coffee
or cocoa that can be warmed up, is the best thing.

“A well-fed and warm crew is a
willing and good-tempered crew. If you let your men get cold, wet, and hungry,
they will soon degenerate into a set of growlers and spoil your night sail.”

Well, take heed all you skippers.
Now you know. You wouldn’t want to be sailing at night with a degenerated set
of growlers, would you?

Today’s
Thought

The
night seemed long. Wilbur's stomach was empty and his mind was full. And when
your stomach is empty and your mind is full, it's always hard to sleep.

— E. B. White, Charlotte’s Web

Tailpiece

Fascinating fact from the Central Office of Statistics:

Four out of every five woman-haters are women.

(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday,
Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)

October 9, 2014

IHAVE READ A BOOK written by an eminent ichthyologist that states
categorically that flying fish do not flap their wings.I have read the same thing in Wikipedia.Both sources maintain that the flying fish
use their special pectoral fins only to glide, not for propulsion.

Well, I have news for them. Flying
fish DO flap their “wings.” I have seen (and heard) flying fish flapping their
wings in the Atlantic tradewind zones. I was ideally positioned to observe this
phenomenon — a few feet above water in the cockpit of a small yacht — on a day
when white caps were flashing as far as the eye could see. In between them, the
flying fishes flew, sometimes singly, sometimes in large shoals so that the
whole surface of the sea seemed to be moving off.

The “experts” say these little guys
wiggle their tail fins to get up speed and then simply glide with their wings
outstretched. They do that, certainly, but they also flap their wings. They
look and sound like giant insects when they’re airborne. They appear to be some
kind of locust or mantis, and their
wings make that same kind of dry fluttering noise.

They soar for a hundred yards or
more at a time, using their wings in bursts, then gliding. On occasion they use
their tails and wings simultaneously to regain flying speed as they touch the
breasts of swells, just like planes doing circuits and bumps.

They fly to escape from predators,
of course, and when they fled from us they usually started off downwind, and
took a slow semi-circle of a curve before landing face into the wind; but not
always. Sometimes they flew upwind from the yacht; and at night we occasionally
found them stranded on deck. We never ate them, but I’ve heard that they are
delicious, fried for breakfast.

I must admit that it has occurred to
me that the flying habits of fish might not be of great interest to you, but I
hope that some of you, at least, will be in a position some time to see for
yourselves that I speak the truth. I hope also that you will join me in
thumbing my nose at the experts who say flying fish don’t flap their wings.
They do.

Today’s
Thought

The
good ship darts through the water all day; all night, like a fish, quivering
with speed, gliding through liquid leagues, sliding from horizon to horizon.

— Ralph Waldo Emerson

Tailpiece

“How’s your new math tutor?”

“He’s great. Even his teeth have
square roots.”

(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday for a new
Mainly about Boats column.)

October 7, 2014

I HAVE LONG REGARDED the spinnaker
as the most unseamanlike sail ever invented. This view was confirmed when I was
the navigator/helmsman aboard a 33-foot sloop called Diana K and we raced across the Atlantic from Cape Town to Rio de
Janeiro. During that race we flew a spinnaker for 3,000 miles.

That darned sail encouraged the boat
to roll from side to side, gunwale to gunwale, for days and weeks on end. In
order to keep it filled in light winds we always had to head off-course
slightly to one side or the other. We could hardly ever steer the boat exactly
where we wanted her to go, because it didn’t suit the blasted spinnaker. That
rig — mainsail and spinnaker — must be the most frustrating combination known
to man for downwind work in the trades.

The continual necessity to jibe,
forced upon us by slight wind-shifts, wore us out. Every little change in wind
direction meant long spells of hard work for the one man on deck who wasn’t steering.
He had to handle the sheets, the guys, the uphauls, the downhauls, and the
spinnaker poles themselves.

All this constant work was bad
enough in the daytime, but at night it took on a new and frightening dimension.
In the dark, the power of the spinnaker seemed ominous, specially in hard winds.

My watchmate, Eddie, was the first
to admit openly that he hated charging into the black of the night with the
spinnaker up. “It’s like driving down the freeway blindfolded,” he complained.

My friend Nick chimed in: “You can
stand it for about half an hour,” he said, “then the mind begins to boggle.”
Nevertheless, we did it. We did it because we were racing. If we didn’t do it,
our competitors would, and we’d be left miles behind.

At the back of all our minds was the
fact that if one of us fell overboard the spinnaker would have to come down
before the boat could be turned around. And we knew from experience that
sometimes spinnakers don’t come down without a fight. They get caught up on
things. They wrap themselves around the forestay. They fall in the water, slide
under the hull, foul the rudder and propeller, and generally cause havoc.

To handle a spinnaker at all
requires some skill, and to douse one in a strong wind calls for some brute
force. And to do this successfully at night takes a bit of luck as well, which
is not surprising when you think about the large sail area you’re dealing with.
Diana
K’s spinnakers had a surface area of 670 square feet each. Her mainsail and
fore triangle, by way of comparison, totaled 420 square feet.

I guess that racing boats will
always use spinnakers, symmetrical or asymmetrical, around the buoys and across
oceans, but if you’re planning to cruise
across an ocean I’d advise you not to touch one with a barge pole. Try a square
sail. Try twin jibs. Try the twistle rig. Try anything but a spinnaker.

Today’s
Thought

One ship drives east and
another drives west
With the selfsame winds that blow.
’Tis the set of the sails
And not the gales
Which tells us the way to go.

-- Ella Wheeler WilcoxTailpiece

A
peasant in Afghanistan was handed a sealed ballot at the polling booth. He
started to tear it open.

“What do you think you’re doing?” screamed an
official.

“I
just wanted to see who I voted for,” he replied.

“Are
you crazy?” the official exclaimed. “This is supposed to be a secret ballot.”

(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday for a new
Mainly about Boats column.)

October 5, 2014

A BOAT WITH STYLE POINTS is a lovely thing to see. Everything happens so smoothly and looks so right. There is never any shouting or panic when approaching the dock and nobody ever falls overboard while trying to get into the dinghy.

There are those who insist that if you have to ask what style points are, there is no hope for you. They say it’s in the genes, that you have to inherit style. But I have not found that to be true. I believe you can generate style points by following certain rules and by behaving like a civilized human being, that is, one who, amongst other things, doesn’t condone advertising on his clothing.

The rules are basically simple, though comparatively few people, alas, seem to follow them voluntarily. For example, there are people who leave port with their fenders still hanging over the side, sloshing back and forth in the waves and thumping on the topsides. Such a sordid display marks the boat’s crew as a bunch of thoughtless slobs. On a stylish boat, the crew whips the fenders in at the speed of lightning as soon as the boat leaves the dock. Just like bra straps, they do a good job, but they are not meant for public display.

It goes almost without saying that no lines should ever trail overboard and that there should never be any washing drying on the lifelines. The experienced boat watcher will also judge your boat’s style by the way you hang your mainsheet when the boat is docked. There are ways to do it so that the bitter end does not extend beyond the body of the coils, and if you don’t know how to do it you should learn very quickly.

And while we’re talking about lines you should be aware that no style points are awarded for Flemish coils, either in the cockpit or on the dockside. They are too infra dig, too twee, too pretentious, and too easy to do. Very few things to do with style come easily, and Flemish coils are a form of cheating, of trying to score points on the cheap.

The same goes for captain’s hats with gold braid and fried egg, and even those hokey Tilley hats with the little pocket in the roof for your passport and spare pot. Floppy sun hats are de rigueur aboard the stylish yacht, preferably ones that come from thrift stores and look well used.

Loads of style points are allotted to boats that wear burgees at the masthead instead of those tacky plastic wind-direction indicators. In fact, flags in general are a very important part of creating stylish boats. You should know where to fly a courtesy flag and an ensign. You should also know that you should strike the ensign at dusk and break it out again at 8 a.m.Most of all, you should know better than to fly one of those vulgar flags that invites people over for cocktails. Boats with style don’t have to appeal to the general public to come and help drink their cocktails.

There are many other little rules that will become apparent if you take the trouble to make a close study of a boat well known for style, some dealing with the number of coats you need for a proper varnish job and some with how often you, or your hired hands, should scrub the teak deck.

And finally there is the golden rule that marks every stylish boat: the color of the hull. Capt. Nat Herreshoff, a yacht designer renowned for great style, put it well when he said there are only two colors to paint a boat, black or white — and only a fool would paint a boat black.

Today’s Thought

And the Devil said to Simon Legree:

“I like your style, so wicked and free.”

— Vachel Lindsay, A Negro Sermon

Tailpiece

“Do you really believe kissing is unhealthy?”

“Definitely. My husband is watching.”

(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)

October 2, 2014

I FIRST LEARNED ABOUT STYLE POINTS
in one of Eric Hiscock’s books. He said that when he and Susan were rowing
their tender in a crowded anchorage, with Eric at the oars and Susan on the
stern thwart, she would guide him so that he didn’t have to pause and look over
his shoulder now and then to see if he was going astray. Susan would do this by
surreptitiously holding one hand low in her lap and pointing it like a weather
vane toward their destination.

I thought that was a wonderful idea,
and became an enthusiastic seeker of style points. Perhaps too enthusiastic at
one stage, for my wife June still occasionally reminds me of an occasion when
she and my son Kevin were waiting for me in the dinghy alongside our 30-foot
sloop. I was tidying up some rope ends in the cockpit, which was within sight
of a large yacht club.

There was a minor gale raging, and
the dinghy was bouncing up and down quite frenziedly. As I stepped down into
the dinghy I barked: “You’re clinging on like a couple of paralyzed leeches!
Smarten up, f’goodness’ sake!”

I would have forgotten about this
years ago, but for some reason it seems to have stuck in June’s mind. My
intention, of course, was to make it seem to any onlooker in the yacht club
that everything was calm and under control; that there was no panic or
distress, despite the obvious difficulties we were experiencing. That is what
style points are all about.

And that is why I could have bitten
June one day many years later in a crowded anchorage in the West Indies when I
discovered that our 39-foot catamaran was about to impale a large anchored
schooner. We were motoring at 5 knots when the steering seized up. “Oh shit,” I
muttered quietly, “we’ve lost steering.”

June reacted with alarm.“Lost steering?” she yelled, causing heads to
pop up in boats all around us. “OMIGOD, HAVE WE LOST STEERING?”

People began scrambling for fenders
and running along decks. I idled the engines, but we were still heading toward
the big schooner. Then I remembered that I had just engaged the autopilot. I quickly
disengaged it and steered around the schooner’s stern with a few feet to spare.
June and I didn’t speak for quite a while.

I have since discovered that people
either naturally pursue style points or they know nothing at all about them,
and don’t care. I guess it’s in the genes. Maybe you have to inherit style. One
thing is for certain — you can always spot boats loaded with style points. They
stand out in the crowd, like royalty among the hoi polloi. They don’t have to
be fancy or big or expensive. They just have to possess that je ne sais quoi that separates them from
the common herd.

If you’d like to learn more about
the quoi that je ne sais pas, tune in to my next column and I’ll give you a few
tips on how to score style points that will drive your boating acquaintances
crazy with envy.

Today’s
Thought

Style
has no fixed laws; it is changed by the usage of the people, never the same for
any length of time.

— Seneca, Ad Lucilium

Tailpiece

A blonde driving down the roadnoticed another blonde sitting in a nearby field. She was in a boat,
rowing, with no water in sight.

The first blonde angrily pulled her car over and yelled at the
rowing blonde, "Hey, what do you think you're doing? It's people like you
that give us blondes a bad name. If I could swim, I'd come out there and kick
your butt!"

(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday,
Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)